


that kind of luxe just ain't for us

by runaways



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Love Bites, M/M, this is mostly just them being fond and dumb honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaways/pseuds/runaways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Louis and Nick are both not famous. They meet while out drinking, and the next morning they’re waking up in a fancy house that neither of them recognize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that kind of luxe just ain't for us

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://tomlinships.tumblr.com/post/112956003895/theappleppielifestyle-list-of-aus-to-consider): _'last night was a haze for both of us and somehow we woke up hungover in a bed that isn’t either of ours and also neither of us recognise this apartment we should probably get out of here before someone calls the cops on us’ au_  
>  Title is from the song Royals by Lorde.
> 
> Also a warning that in this fic both Louis and Nick were drunk enough to not fully remember the night before, and they did hook up – so please don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable! :)

The first thing Louis notices when he wakes up is the pounding headache behind his eyelids. He immediately tries to will his brain back to sleep, not bothering to open his aching eyes. Maybe if he pretends he hasn’t woken up yet, he can trick his brain into believing it.

It doesn’t take long for him to grow impatient with this approach, the longer he lays still the more he feels the need to piss, and maybe take a paracetamol or two. Or a handful. Or the whole bottle.

He finally cracks his eyes open, bright rays of sunlight streaming through the window and making his head throb, a rush of unfamiliarity making him dizzy. This isn’t his flat. It’s far too posh - big, wide windows, white walls and large pieces of art staring back at him (art in the bedroom – who _does_ that?). The room has a kind of unlived-in feeling, more like a hotel room than a bedroom, feeling miles away from Louis’ flat, which might be messy and small, but it’s home.

And then there’s the fact that a stranger’s next to him in the lush queen size bed.  Louis decides that the man lying next to him looks like enough of a posh asshole to have a house like this. His hair sits in a weird slightly curled poof over his forehead, fallen flat in his sleep. His eyelashes swept along his cheeks, mouth slightly open, breath coming out in steady puffs. Louis can see the little crinkles along his eyes, laughter lines that are still apparent even when he’s sleeping, giving away his age. Louis did tend to not notice things like _wrinkles_ when he’s been drinking, but he has to admit to himself that the guy is at least good looking, regardless of his questionable decorating choices.

Louis swiftly gets out of bed, joints popping as he stands up. He throws on his clothes and makes sure that he has his wallet and cellphone, planning on leaving once he’s used the bathroom. No need to stay and make things uncomfortable.

He steps into the en suite ( _of course_ there’s an en suite), and does his business quickly, looking around the bathroom. He idly admires its marble countertops and polished floor, a cast-iron bathtub sat in the corner. This bloke is clearly rich enough to not even have a shower in the bathroom, although Louis is sure there’s a million more throughout the house.

Washing his hands, Louis inspects himself in the mirror, a bit taken aback by how debauched he looks, hair sticking up in all directions and lips still slightly swollen from the night before. His stomach swoops as he looks further at his neck, a mosaic of love bites sucked into his skin, red and pink and purple bruises spanning sporadically from just under his jawbone to his chest. He presses his fingers lightly into them, reveling in the slight pain of the bruise, imagining the slack mouth of the dark haired boy lying in the room next to him. He’s tempted to strip off his clothes again, do a full inspection of his body, wondering where else could possibly have marks, but decides it can wait until he gets home. He spends a minute trying to make his hair lie flat, but there’s not much he can do to hide the love bites on his neck with the plain t-shirt he’s wearing. It’s going to be a hell of a walk of shame home.

He slides quietly out of the bathroom, trying to make as little noise as possible.

“Do you always walk out on the blokes you sleep with?” A voice asks from the other side of the room. Louis pauses where he stands, several steps from the door, heart beating fast. _Busted_.

“Sometimes.” He replies awkwardly, going for nonchalant. He turns to face the man, crossing his arms in front of him. The man stares at him from where he’s sitting up in bed, blankets covering his lap, hair a mess, smirking. Louis kind of hates it, wants to wipe it off his face. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

The smirk only seems to grow. “Nick.” He replies. “And you are…”

“Louis.” Louis answers shortly, shifting his weight to the other foot, half desperate to flee the room.

“Well Louis,” Nick says, “May I ask why you seem so desperate to leave your house? Meeting to go to or summat? Might want a change of clothes, I always try to avoid wearing my pub clothes when the sun’s still up.”

Louis laughs, shocked and not quite understanding what Nick’s getting at. “Not the best joke in the book, mate.”

Nick’s brow furrows, looking Louis over as if he isn’t in on the joke. “What do you mean?” He asks slowly.

“Look, _Nick_ , we both know I’m not posh enough to live in this stupid house, but you don’t need to point it out. Hilarious. Can I go now?” Louis snaps, turning on his heel, ready to leave for real this time.

“This isn’t your house?” Nick asks, sitting up straighter.

“That’s what I just said,” Louis replies, catching onto the feeling that Nick probably wasn’t kidding. “Did you drink so much you forgot this was _your_ house? Hit your head while we were fucking? Wake up with amnesia?”

“This isn’t my house, mate.” Nick says, crawling out of bed. Louis tries his best to keep looking at his face, not the black briefs he’s wearing or the spattering of hair along his chest. Nick begins to pull his jeans on, looking alarmed.

“Any idea whose house this is, then?” Louis asks. He can’t pinpoint the reason why, but he feels more angry than he does panicked, a frustration creeping into his bones. Stupid Nick.

“No idea.” Nick responds, now fully dressed. He steps closer to Louis. “I don’t remember coming here last night. My memory’s kind of patchy, to be honest.”

“Probably comes with old age.” Louis catches himself biting back before he can stop to think.

Nick looks torn between outrage and amusement. “Hey now. My age didn’t seem to be too much of a problem last night.” He says, pointedly looking at the bruises along Louis’ neck. Louis flushes, adamantly looking at the wall past Nick’s stupid head.

“Anyway, do _you_ remember how we ended up here, since you’re so youthful?” Nick asks, a smug smile crawling its way across his face.

“No,” Louis replies begrudgingly.

“Well, let’s go downstairs and look for clues!” Nick says, his worry seeming to melt away into excitement.

Louis silently follows him out of the room, arms folded against his chest. As hard as he tries to stay grouchy, Nick’s ridiculous excitement is kind of contagious. He can’t help but wonder who could possibly have a place this nice, and how the hell they got into it.

“Hopefully there’s not a murderer waiting downstairs for us,” Louis says as they stomp down the steps.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll protect you. Very tough, I am.” Nick says, glancing back at him with the glimpse of a grin on his face. Louis can’t help but laugh in response, picturing Nick with his gangly limbs trying to protect him from some masked villain. Nick’s grin grows wider, a pleased sparkle in his eyes.

It turns out that there is no murderer waiting for them downstairs. In fact, the house is so still and empty it’s almost eerie, the rooms carrying the same unlived in feeling that the bedroom had. It _is_ nice though, a huge kitchen and living room, plush couches and a huge television. Louis starts poking his way around the living room, looking for any clue as to whose house it is. There’s a nice looking record player in the corner, and a collection of records that almost reaches the ceiling. _Hipster, then_ , Louis thinks, turning on his heel when he hears Nick gasp from the kitchen.

“No way!” Nick yells, sounding dumbfounded, “Louis! Guess whose house this is!”

Louis is beside him in the kitchen before Nick can finish speaking, staring at the pictures hung on the fridge. He bursts into laughter.

“Harry fucking Styles,” Louis chokes out as Nick starts to laugh too. They’re in a fucking _celebrity_ ’s house. Harry Styles is the biggest fucking popstar in the world, and they’re stood in his house with no recollection of how they got there.

Louis isn’t sure why it’s so funny, but it is.

“Harry fucking Styles and his hipster fucking house,” Louis cackles, clutching his stomach, “I should have known.”

“Y’know, I used to have quite the crush on Harry Styles when I was younger,” Nick says; grin wide as their laughter dies down.

“Isn’t he a bit young for you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow challengingly. A blush spreads across the top of Nick’s cheeks.

“I’m not that old, Jesus Christ,” Nick complains, rolling his eyes. Louis is immediately annoyed that he still looks cute while rolling his eyes. How can he simultaneously want to punch this guy in the face but also want to kiss him and like… continue breaking into celebrity homes with him?

“Besides, I _know_ you’ve had a crush on him too, practically everyone in the bloody UK has,” Nick continues, crossing his arms and looking at Louis.

Louis nods, not even bothering to deny it. “He might have been involved in a fantasy or two, I admit.” He says with a shrug, making Nick laugh. “Oh god,” Louis feels his grin growing wider, “I’ve had sex in Harry Styles’ bed. Oh my god. If only I could tell 18 year old me that. He’d lose his mind.”

Nick starts laughing again, and Louis has to admit that he has a nice laugh, makes Louis feel embarrassingly warm. Deep but bright, a big smile curled across his face and just. Really really genuine. God.

They continue poking around the kitchen for a bit, skeptically looking through cupboards with hardly anything in them, before remembering that Harry’s on a tour that’s set to last several months.

Nick glances around the wide kitchen once more, his brow furrowing slightly. “Hopefully we’re not going to be arrested for this or something. You know, security cameras and all that.”

Louis bites his lip, starting to feel genuinely worried for the first time all morning. Did they break into Harry Styles’ house while drunk? Is that _honestly_ what happened?

“Maybe we should leave him a note?” Louis suggests, not sure what else to do. “’ _Hey mate, we somehow ended up in your house while drunk. Didn’t take anything, we promise. Maybe look into better security. Nick and Louis._ ’”

Nick cackles, a loud laugh that sounds like it’s ripped out of him. “Yeah yeah, I’m sure that’ll be a real comfort to him.”

“Well what do _you_ suggest we do?” Louis asks, petulant.  
  
They end up leaving the note, much to Louis’ delight.

   
Louis is relieved when they walk outside and he actually doesn’t feel completely lost. There’s a high chance that he’ll be able to find a train station from here.

“So, you have anywhere to go right now?” Nick asks, stopping and looking down at Louis.

“No,” Louis replies, suddenly feeling quite nervous, squirming under the heat of Nick’s gaze.

“You can come back to mine if you like,” Nick offers, “It’s not much compared to Harry Styles’ place, but it’s not completely terrible… I could cook you up some brekkie or something...”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Louis replies, almost feeling surprised at just how true that is. He’d like that a lot.

“I mean, unless you have other celebrity mansions to break into, I don’t want to distract you…” Nick jokes with a wide grin, blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You know, I’m thinking of retiring.” Louis jokes back, fondly watching Nick laugh. Usually his drunken exploits don’t end so well, but Louis can’t help but reflect on how this feels more like a beginning than an ending.

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr [here](http://tomlinships.tumblr.com/post/126145364916/that-kind-of-luxe-just-aint-for-us-runaways)!


End file.
